


Assassin | Charles-Henri Sanson -- Reach Out

by HolyGrailWarGM (RavenkinLegacy)



Series: Dreams of a Grand Order [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Depression, Discussion of Death, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenkinLegacy/pseuds/HolyGrailWarGM
Summary: A near-miss with depression, and the promise of a better end.





	Assassin | Charles-Henri Sanson -- Reach Out

On the third day of being shut up in my room, Sanson comes to visit.

His knock is gentle, a _onetwo-three_ tap on the door, his voice even gentler as he asks to see me.  It surprises me; Mash has been doing such a good job of keeping people away that I haven’t heard from anyone else since I came in here.  I hate asking it of her; it’s a full-time job and she’s been so sweet and supportive even though I’ve been nothing been a lousy useless lump…

 _There’s the depression talking again,_ I realize dimly.   _You always let it get to you.  Stupid…_

For a moment, I consider letting Sanson’s knock go unanswered.  But I know him: he may be too considerate to kick my door down himself, but he has no qualms about fetching Marie or Amadeus to do the deed for him if I don’t at least say something.

It takes exactly half a second to decide that I can handle Sanson much easier than either of them.

I grumble out a half-hearted greeting in return to let him know I’m on my way to the door, and begin the laborious task of getting out of bed.  Most of the blankets come with me, dragging through the crinkling food wrappers scattered across the floor. I wince at the sound.

_You should pick those up… probably tomorrow…_

By the time I reach the door, I’m wishing that I had not left the bed.  It takes a lot of willpower to raise my hand and let the door slide open enough to peer outside.

The hallway light is bright, brighter than I had anticipated, bright enough to make me realize how dark it is in my room.  Sanson’s normally stoic gaze widens into an expression of surprise. For a brief moment, I catch a flash of vision: a picture of myself through his eyes.

_Hair uncombed.  Eyes sunken, dark circles beneath.  Body swathed in a mass of blankets. Unwashed scent._

The wave of matter-of-fact perception staggers me, and I have to catch myself against the door frame.  I shake my head to clear it, but that does nothing to erase the concerned crease of Sanson’s brow.

I clear my throat to break the silence.  “Sanson,” I greet him, “hi.” _Is your voice always this raspy?_

The crease deepens.  Despite his white hair, Sanson normally looks very young.  The frown lines on his face make him appear so much older.

_your fault your fault your fault_

I swallow the guilt and try to look innocent.

I should know better than to try that on an executioner.

“Master,” he begins, softer than I expect him to sound, “Lady Mash says that you have been ill these past few days.  May I offer my services?”

 _His…?_ It takes my stupid brain a minute to catch up.   _Oh.  He’s a physician.  Of course._

“No, no, I’m… I’m okay.  I don’t need… anything.”

Sanson studies my face and does not respond.  He seems to be waiting for me to say something else.

“I mean,” I stumble on, “I’m not really sick.  I’m just…”

_Stupid.  Useless. Too weak for--_

“Master.”  His voice cuts into the stream of thoughts calmly and deliberately, as thought he can hear them as they come.  Maybe he can.

I close my mouth.

Sanson takes a deep, slow breath.  I can practically see him rolling his next words over in his head.  He’s good at that, at finding the right thing to say when he really thinks about it.

I can’t help but feel touched that he would spare that time for me.

Finally, he speaks, carefully and quietly as always.  “There is no shame in illness, no matter its cause or nature.”

My gaze slides away from his, seeking something, anything else, to look at.  It falls on the enormous broadsword at his side. I feel a shudder in my gut.

“If you need someone to talk to…”

I shake my head.  “I don’t want to talk.  Not…” _now.  here. ever._

_But to you, yes.  I can talk to you._

That last thought surprises me, and by the widening of his eyes, it surprises him too.  That makes me wonder if he has heard the previous thoughts as well. How mortifying.

Before I can say anything to save my skin, Sanson holds up a hand.  I track the gesture up to look at his face, which now bears a slight, soft smile.

“I understand.  This is hardly an ideal venue in which to have a conversation.  Please, rest. Sleep. I will find you, and we can talk.”

I can only nod dumbly and blink up at him.  He offers me a cordial nod and turns his back on the door, clearly intending to stay there for the time being.  I stand for a moment, unsure of what to do, then I close the door and begin the long shuffle back to bed.

***

I sleep that night, and for the first time in over a week, I dream.

There have been other sleeps, and other visions during them, but they have all been horror and blood, fire and loss.

Not this.  This vision takes me back to a hillside overlooking a city.  In my dream, it is very early morning; the sun has yet to crest the hill, dew is scattered on the grass, and a fine mist rolls in waves around my feet and down toward the city where only the most industrious citizens are awake.

“This is Paris,” I murmur aloud.  My voice isn’t hoarse in my dream.

“You seemed to like it here,” a voice answers from beside me.  I turn my head and Sanson is there, wearing his small soft smile.  “I thought it would bring you comfort to see.”

I nod slowly and turn back to the sight in front of me.  I really don’t know what to say to him. I’m not sick. I’m just…

“Master,” he asks gently, “what troubles you?”

I pull my dream coat around me.  It’s not cold on the hill, but there is a comfort to being enveloped.  It makes me feel less exposed to him.

Sanson waits while I gather my thoughts.  Finally, I reply, “I’m afraid. And I know… I shouldn’t be.  I can’t be.”

“Why do you feel that?”

I shake my head.  “I can’t afford to be.  So many people are looking up to me and counting on me; I just can’t…” I trail off and shake my head again.  “I just can’t.”

“What are you afraid of?”

A litany of things shoots through my mind at light speed.  Most of them, I notice, aren’t even strictly true. But the ones that hit home the hardest…

“Failing,” I murmur, then, “No, not even that.  I’m afraid of people thinking that I failed. Perceiving that I didn’t succeed.  Remembering… Remembering the bad days. Thinking those were more important than the good ones.”  I chuckle. “I know I do.”

Sanson hums and gazes down at the city.  The gentle morning breeze billows his coat and the mist around his legs, giving him the appearance of some brooding hero from a book I read a lifetime ago.  For a moment, he looks like he is waiting for me to continue. Then he speaks.

“Do you know what I’m known for in life, Master?  What the people say was my greatest achievement?”

I nod.  “The use of the guillotine, right?  You were the first executioner to bring it into a spotlight.”

His expression falls somber as he nods in response.  “Do you know what I perceive to be my greatest failure?”

I think for a moment, my mind flashing to Marie, but I don’t want to dwell on that.  I shake my head.

“That very same thing,” he replies, “the guillotine that the people adored and admired so much is the thing that I feel was my failure.”

I remain silent, waiting while he gathers his thoughts.  The breeze blows his hair over his face, obscuring his expression from my sight, and he goes on, “I intended for it to be my greatest success:  a tool that eased the suffering of those whose lives it took. I was skilled with my blade, but if I had a poor day, I could cause so much unnecessary suffering in a death.  The guillotine took that variable away. It was simply that -- a tool, unconnected to an executioner’s skill or lack thereof. But for that reason, it was impersonal. Anyone could use it, not just the skilled.  And many did. So many more executions took place after I showed its greatness as a tool. Where I sought to alleviate suffering, I instead caused a great deal more of it. It was my greatest failure in life.”

He shakes his head and turns to me with a sigh.  “This… was not as uplifting as I intended it to be, but my point is this:  Master, our own perceptions of our lives cannot control how we are seen after death.

You may remember the time that you spent three days in your room, collapsing under the pressure of saving the world, but do you know what the world will remember?  Being saved. Living. Even if they do not remember you specifically, they will know that they were saved. A few days of rest is not going to make a difference, in the long run.”

For a few moments, I can do nothing but stare at him and blink.  I have never heard him speak so much in one sitting, and I have never thought the soft-spoken Sanson capable of delivering such an impassioned speech.  He must sense my surprise, because a slight tinge of pink crosses his pale cheeks as he hunches his shoulders higher and turns quickly back to the view of the city.

I roll over what he said in my mind.  It’s true, that no one else is going to know about… everything.  The long nights staring at the ceiling, the days gone without bathing, the meals skipped or the junk food eaten.  My depression, and all its trappings, will probably be lost to the new history of humanity. Even if at the moment it feels like a nightmare.

I shake my head.   _Speaking of nightmares…_

Right now, I’m happy to be on a peaceful hillside with Sanson overlooking Paris.  But the horrific images of bloody battlefields and failures remain.

“Can I…”  I trail off, clear my throat, try again:  “Can I ask you something?”

He turns his soft gaze to me.  “Anything, Master.”

I tug my coat around me again and swallow the jitter in my stomach.   _You can’t ask him that.  It’s too much. It’s too weird.  What’s he going to think?_

I glance up at him to retract my question, to say “never mind”, “forget it”, but the words stick when I see his determined concern.

_If I back out now, he really will call Marie._

I take a deep breath and fix my eyes on the view of distant Paris, the sight so much easier to bear than Sanson’s gentle eyes.

“If I… Would you…”  I stop, take a moment to gather myself, and try again.  “I get nightmares, sometimes. They’re… they can be… a lot.  If I… at the end of all this, if it gets to be too much, would you…”

I do look at him now, glancing quickly to catch his eye and then letting my gaze fall back to his sword, so comfortably set at his side.  I let my attention linger there for a moment before forcing my eyes back up to his in lieu of finishing my question.

Where I except to find fear, horror, or -- god forbid -- pity, I’m relieved to see only compassion.  Sanson turns fully to me and steps closer, slowly so as not to surprise me, with care in his movements.  I turn to meet him as he stops in front of me. I can see him rolling his words over in his mind again, trying to find the best way to say what he’s thinking.

Finally, he settles on offering me his hands upturned.  After a moment, I raise my hands and place them in his. He squeezes them gently and murmurs, “My Master… My friend.  When we have finished our mission, if you find that the strain has become too much for you to bear… If you can no longer find rest… It would be my honor to grant you a final, peaceful sleep.”

He raises my hands and brushes his lips over my knuckles with a reverence I’ve only seen when he looks at Marie.  The thought brings a tinge of heat to my own cheeks. I squeeze his hands in return and he meets my gaze with a somber smile.

“But until then,” he goes on, “please do not sequester yourself away.  You bear a great burden, Master, greater than I ever bore. It is understandable that you would grow weary of it.  But this is a burden that you need not bear alone. There are many of us here who are willing to provide for you, as you have provided for us.”

I nod and blink away moisture from my eyes.  Sanson releases my hands and produces a handkerchief from somewhere inside his coat.  He passes it to me with an almost comical flourish, and smiles at my chuckle. He steps up beside me again on the hill as I wipe my face, and together we turn to face the east, where the sunlight has begun to crest over the horizon.

“Now,” he murmurs as the bright rays finally reach us, “wake up, and reach out.  Sometimes, that’s all we can do.”

***

I shut my eyes against the light of the sun, and when I open them again, I’m staring at the ceiling of my dorm.  I feel for the first time in four days like I actually got some sleep.

As I sit up, the last thing that Sanson said to me replays in my mind.   _Reach out.  Sometimes, that’s all we can do._

I close my eyes again and calm my mind; so much easier now after a good night’s sleep.  When I can form a picture of my room in my mind, I reach beyond that. Outside the door, Mash and Sanson are both slumped in chairs, fast asleep but guarding my room nonetheless.  Further out, I can sense Amadeus, Marie, Cu Chulainn, Lily, Robin, Asterios, and all the others. My Servants. My friends.

Some things are never going to change, I know.  The nasty voice in my head has had too many years of practice to just disappear with one conversation.  But Sanson is right. There are a lot of people here. And I’m willing to bet that at times, they all feel the burden of this purpose too.

_Alright, you win.  Get up, you slob. Go shower and put some pants on.  Face the day or something._

_Yeah,_ I think, shedding my blanket cape to make my way to the shower.   _I don’t mind if I do._

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just start this series out with a cheery opening! (Sarcasm! That was sarcasm!)
> 
> Sanson was my first Assassin in the game and he comes close to being my favorite character. He strikes me as a very careful, thoughtful, and thorough person. He seems like he would be a good person to have late night chats with about the nature of humanity and your mission with the Grand Orders.
> 
> ~~Besides, I love a man with steady hands and a big sword.~~


End file.
